


bitter coffee

by ostentatiouslyrealistic



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Diners, Breakfast, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 15:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14918358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ostentatiouslyrealistic/pseuds/ostentatiouslyrealistic
Summary: "So is that a yes?" Lance asked, peering down at Keith's furrowed brows. The latter snorted and crossed his arms, though the motion was difficult when both hands were occupied."It wasn't a no."Good enough.A wide smile grew on his face, bright with excitement as he reached over to grasp at Keith's arms. Then, without another word, he yanked him towards the door. The red paladin was much more vocal.Keith protested, shaking his arm in an effort for Lance to let go as his water bottle clattered to the ground. His grip on the bayard tightened, and he stumbled over his footing in order to match Lance's longer, much wider strides."Let's go get pancakes!"--Or the Klance pancake vs waffle debate no one asked for.





	bitter coffee

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've written anything Voltron-related, so I hope you enjoy it! (Also, I'm not very good at canon things, so Keith is still the red paladin to me.)

To say Keith was impulsive would be a no-brainer.

To say Lance was impulsive would induce rambunctious laughter that would later be reduced to an awkward chuckle and then a drawn out, "Oh, you were serious?"

Of course, in many situations, Lance was a well-thought out person. In a dire need for instruction, he was there, thumb rubbing his chin as he pondered over an answer that wouldn't send someone spiraling out of control—unless he wanted it that way.

If someone heeded him for advice, he would take some time out of his life, swishing the answer around his mouth as he fought for the right words.

And if he was tasked to do something, he'd stop, think about it just a little, and then proceed on to doing the best he could.

But impulsive?

Probably not.

But then how did he find himself in the training room, feet shuffling against the ground as he whistled a made-up tune, as he watched his so-called rival duke it out with a training gladiator? He watched as Keith tossed up his sword, ducking a blow, and catch it with his other hand, letting it elongate even further into something far deadlier.

But the training gladiator wasn't stupid. It dodged Keith's next attack, swinging its leg, and successfully knocked Keith off his feet. It poised the training pole against his chest, seemingly deadly and merciless. 

"Stop training sequence!" Lance cried. The system shut down immediately, the gladiator slumping forward as its lights dimmed from a bright blue to a dull emptiness. Pushing off against the wall, he swooped down to grab at the bottle at his feet and made his way over to Keith, whose chest heaved from exertion and whose eyes were wide with surprise and frustration. Lance held out a hand, feet still shuffling in a nervous jitter.

Keith glared at it for a good second, muttering, "I had it," before he took the offering. With a small yank, Lance pulled him up to his feet. The both of them stumbled from the momentum, but they righted themselves. Keith was still somewhat out of breath from the training, and his sword had shrunk down to its original form.

He brushed himself off and used the hem of his shirt to wipe at the beads of sweat that dotted his forehead and slid down his cheeks.

(Lance didn't watch. No sir-ee. He kept his eyes on that mullet.)

(It wasn't because that Keith had abs. No, of course not.)

(It was obviously envy.)

"What do you want?" Keith's voice was muffled from the cotton, but that didn't stop Lance's wandering gaze. He swore internally at those muscles that rose and fell in deep breaths.

"What did you say?" The shirt came down just enough for Keith to glare over the hem. His violet eyes shone with part anger and part confusion.

(Maybe it wasn't as internal as Lance had thought.)

"Nothing. I was just talking to myself."

Keith nodded and continued to wipe at the sweat, and when the shirt finally fell back into place, there was a definite spot much darker than the rest of the grey fabric. Without another word, Lance extended his arm, offering the bottle to his friend. Keith took it and practically downed it immediately.

The blue paladin could only watch in fascination as the water levels dipped quicker than he had anticipated. A few stray drops escaped and slid down his cheeks, trailing down his neck and disappearing underneath his shirt. Everything in that moment seemed to echo around the large room. The acoustics were the best Lance had ever heard, but even so, it didn't help that it amplified everything. Even his thoughts were being broadcasted here.

"Slow down, buddy," he chuckled. His leg had not stopped its awkward jittery dance.

There was no way Keith would agree to what he had planned. Hunk and Pidge had already turned down his offer, gesturing at the machinery that sprawled in a mess throughout the room. Though, Hunk turned his invitation down with much more resignation than Pidge had. Shiro was out of the question, Lance having found him, Allura, and Coran standing at the deck as they observed the star chart for potential diplomatic missions.

All that was left—was Keith.

The red paladin capped the now-empty bottle and wiped the back of his hand against his mouth. They both stared at one another, Keith with a question on his brow and Lance with a question weighing down the tip of his tongue. There was a good moment of silence, only slightly permeated by Lance's tapping foot and Keith's labored breathing.

"So, what do you want?" The question was drawn out, laced with hesitation and a tidbit of concern. Lance swallowed heavily, but the question didn't go away.

"Are you busy?"

(There, that was a good start.)

Keith shook his head, his sweaty bangs swaying with the movement. He lifted his bayard into the air and pointed at it, furrowing his brow. "Not really. I was just training."

"What level were you on?"

(Wow, now he was really avoiding the question. He wasn't quite sure why Keith's answer meant so much more than the other's he had asked.)

 Keith could sense it as well, and it was evident by the way his eyes narrowed and the way his jaw ticked. Nodding towards the gladiator, he pursed his lips. "Honestly, I can't remember. I started at level five and went up from there."

"So you've been training for a while?" The tapping from Lance's foot echoed in the large room. It didn't help quell the nervousness that punctuated each breath he took. Every exhale felt a little closer to drowning.

"Yeah, it's been a while—but really, what do you want?" The curiosity and frustration seeped into Keith's tone, and Lance nearly flinched.

(Luckily, he didn't.)

"Wanna go get some pancakes?"

(There. Now the question was out.)

(Thank _god_.)

It caught Keith off guard because the hand holding the bottle fell to his side. His eyebrows had risen to disappear beneath his bangs. There was a moment of silence that fell between them, but Lance could hear the rapid beating against his ribs, cracking and yearning to escape this awkward gap.

"I—have you asked Hunk?"

Lance shook his head, feeling the beating pulse begin its plummet into the pit of his stomach. "He said no."

"Pidge?"

Another shake.

"Shiro?"

Another.

"Allura? Coran?"

Lance didn't bother to stop shaking his head. He pointed to Keith and muttered, "You're the only one I haven't asked yet."

At first, his friend was taken aback. Then his expression morphed until it looked a little affronted. He opened his mouth—then closed it. The process repeated itself as he gaped at Lance. To the outside viewer, it would have seemed amusing, but to Lance, it was certainly anything but. His leg had stopped bouncing, and he now held his breath, readying himself for the inevitable 'no'.

"You—asked me last?" The final word was said with a raise in pitch. Oh, Keith was definitely offended. Lance paused for a moment, giving himself a mentally wide berth to understand what was happening. Where was the 'no'?

"So is that a yes?" Lance asked, peering down at Keith's furrowed brows. The latter snorted and crossed his arms, though the motion was difficult when both hands were occupied.

"It wasn't a no."

Good enough.

A wide smile grew on his face, bright with excitement as he reached over to grasp at Keith's arms. Then, without another word, he yanked him towards the door. The red paladin was much more vocal.

Keith protested, shaking his arm in an effort for Lance to let go as his water bottle clattered to the ground. His grip on the bayard tightened, and he stumbled over his footing in order to match Lance's longer, much wider strides.

"Let's go get pancakes!"

 

\--

 

They had no idea where they were going.

The space pod they'd taken cruised among the swirling stars and their iron cores. Lance never got tired of this view—blisteringly bright suns, flickering lights billions of light years away, house-sized meteors—all of it was beautiful. The faint roar of the rockets echoed in their little bubble, which accompanied by Lance's quiet humming and Keith's silent gaze out of the window.

"Do you know where we're going?" Keith asked. They'd been travelling for at least fifteen minutes now.

"No idea," Lance chirped. This earned him a furious, panicked glare from the red paladin. "But team Punk graciously added a star map, GPS-thingy to the pods, so now. And—"

He waved his finger in a flourish, stopping it on one of the holographic screens. "—Hunk, my best buddy, best friend, added an option for food stops, one of which is the diner we're headed for."

Keith's expression twisted into one of confusion. "How does he know where all the food stops are?"

Lance shook his head, feigning a saddened sigh, "What do you think we do when we disappear from the castle for an hour or two?"

Keith threw up his hands, rolling his eyes at the rhetorical question. It was evident that he was growing frustrated with each word that escaped Lance's mouth. The blue paladin shifted his eyes over to Keith, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. The guilt and hesitation swirled in the pit of his stomach, but it was too late to stop at this point.

He was in a space pod. He was with Keith in said space pod. And they were heading out towards a space diner he only vaguely remembered.

If only the pod had something that could play music to ease the tension between them. It was hopeful thinking, and Lance made sure to make note to ask Pidge about it later.

Maybe he'd buy her and Hunk some pancakes as a bargaining chip.

 

\--

 

"This is the place?" Keith's tone was surprised. He glanced around the small diner, from its quaint space to its neon lights that ran around the ceiling perimeter. There were booths, a counter, even an old—very old—jukebox. His eyebrows were raised and disappeared underneath his hair; he was definitely impressed.

Lance grinned, feeling his chest swell with an odd mixture of pride and homesickness. It reminded him too closely of home, but it wasn't exactly the same. The writing that flashed in the wide windows was unfamiliar, and the races that came in and out of the doors were most definitely not human. But it was close.

He hesitantly placed his hands on Keith's shoulder and ushered him towards the counter where a species Lance and Hunk had only seen once watched them. From the looks of it, Lance was pretty sure it was the same waitress who greeted them last time.

From her pale purple skin to the white mop of hair that sat atop of a wide head, Lance definitely remembered her. There were bags underneath her three eyes, one of which resided on her forehead, and all three shone with bright green irises. Her hands on her hips, she shoved her way out of the small counter door and waved at him. He responded by waving and holding up two fingers, gesturing between him and Keith, mouthing 'two please'.

She nodded, and the curls on her head bounced with the movement. Then she gestured to one of the booths with a small smile. It was reminiscent of the way his grandmother would smile, with eyes crinkling and nose scrunching, but he knew deep inside that that smile housed two rows of sharp teeth that Hunk had shrunk back on sight.

"How did you guys even find this place?" Keith asked, eyes shifting from the jukebox to Lance. The blue paladin shrugged, pocketing his hands and slouching forward as he took long strides. Watching Keith match his pace with his shorter legs was always a positive in Lance's days.

They slid into the booth, shifting to right themselves as the waitress set down two menus in front of them. Her fingers were flat at the tips, and it helped the old, laminated paper glide down her hands perfectly into their vision. She garbled out a few words, and Lance pointed towards a picture of a cup of dark liquid and held up two fingers. Scribbling down his order, she garbled another phrase accompanied with a smile and sauntered away.

When Lance turned back to his menu, he noticed Keith watching him with a look of incredulity.

"What?"

Keith ignored the menu and bore his eyes into Lance's. He'd always been intense, and from the looks of it, nothing had changed. "How did you know what she was saying?" he asked, tilting his head.

Lance barked a laugh and leaned forwards, placing his forearms on the table. "Keith, buddy, when you dine out, the first thing they do is always ask what you want to drink."

That didn't placate Keith's curiosity. "Ok, so what exactly did you order for us if you can't read their language?"

The blue paladin spun his menu around to face Keith and pointed down at the picture. Tapping it twice, he said, "It's alien coffee. Hunk and I ordered it last time we were here." Seeing another question form at the tip of Keith's lips, Lance continued, "We guessed by the pictures. It looked like coffee, and when we tried it, it was pretty darn close. Maybe a little more bitter, but generally the same."

With that, he turned the menu back so that it was facing him and watched as Keith leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. His menu lay discarded on the table. Suddenly, he scoffed and a corner of his lip pulled into a half smile as he shook his head.

"What?" Lance asked, raising a brow.

Keith laughed again, "It's probably more bitter cause you haven't had coffee in a while."

Was that a challenge? Lance set his menu down and crossed his arms, mirroring Keith's position. He turned up his nose and jut out his chin. "I'll have you know that I loved coffee on earth and could _never_ forget it's taste."

Keith rolled his eyes and muttered, "Sure, sure." Then his lips moved without a sound, and Lance could read the word 'weak' being teased into the air.

"Hey!" he protested. At that, his friend laughed, snorting a little as his eyes crinkled and his nose scrunched in amusement. Lance's breath caught in his throat, and before he knew it, he was laughing too.

It was funny how Lance thought this was originally going to spiral into a awkward scenario, with Keith almost always seemingly bouncing between either anger, intensity, or apathy. But here and now, with their responsibilities light years away (somewhat literally) and the universe at relative peace compared to their last few months, Keith was much more loose.

So caught up in the moment, they nearly missed two mugs setting before them, hot and steaming. The muffled garble drew their attention away from each other, and Lance picked up the menu, pointing at a meal and indicating towards it with two fingers. The waitress nodded and held out her hands, having no trouble with the old, laminated menu as Lance placed them haphazardly on her fingertips.

From the corner of his eye, he watched as Keith picked up the mug, bringing it up cautiously to his nose. With a small whiff, his brows rose; he was either impressed or pleased—both of which would make Lance pretty satisfied. A small sip later, Lance snorted as Keith's face scrunched up.

"Bitter, right?"

Keith shook his head, setting down the mug and coughing lightly into his palm. "No, just hot." Then his face puckered as he swallowed again. "Anyway, what did you order for us?"

Lance leaned back, swishing his own mouthful of space coffee in his mouth. It really was bitter and there was no way Keith thought it was fine. He was a coffee lover (self-called connoisseur) back on earth, and even that was bitter to his standards. "I got us the whole package: eggs, bacon, hash browns, pancakes. Ya know, the goods."

Keith slowly nodded his head. His fingers played with the mug, hands cupping the perimeter and fingertips sliding around the rim. The bell from the diner rang, and they both listened to the odd garble intermix with a squabble from another unknown alien race.

"The goods?" Keith asked, "What about waffles?"

Lance pursed his lips and slowly shook his head, "Actually, I didn't check to see if there were any. I think Hunk did, but he didn't say much. Anyway, everyone knows that pancakes are superior in shape and form."

Wow. Keith actually looked offended. "Wait, wait. I'm sorry, what? Waffles are amazing. A luxury."  

The blue paladin scoffed. He leaned forward and cocked his head in a disapproving manner. "No, no. Keith, buddy. Listen, pancakes are the best. Outranks waffles in all aspects. Shape? Circle, square, rocket, doesn't matter. All doable—"

"—you can do that with waffles too—"

"—taste? All flavors are possible. There's no way to mess that up—"

"—you can do that with waffles too!"

They both paused, eyeing each other with narrowed gazes and pursed lips. Keith crossed his arms and let his back hit the plastic booth seat. Lance did the same, and he blinked slowly at his friend. He picked up his coffee and sipped at the hot liquid, taking care to school his expression as to keep it neutral.

(It was really hot, and it was a really big sip. And _wow_ , his tongue was definitely burnt.)

When it was evident that neither of them would give it up, Keith leaned in, cupping his fingerless-gloved hands around the mug.

"You can actually keep butter and syrup in each bite. Pancakes don't have that luxury."

Lance opened his mouth, retort ready, when he realized that, well, he had no retort. Keith only tilted his chin up with a smug smile in victory.

They both broke eye contact when the waitress made another appearance, this time, carrying one large platter in one hand and hoisting a small stand underneath her arm. She expertly unfolded the stand and gently set the platter on it. The sight of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and all around breakfast had Lance leaning forward and inhaling deeply.

God, that smelled amazing.

Keith wasn't as obvious, but it was evident that he was interested. With his eyes a fraction wider and his lips pursed, he followed the food's movement with predator-like eyes. The waitress set the two plates in front of them and then slid the platter underneath her arm. She garbled out something Lance couldn't make out. But he took a guess and shook his head.

She smiled at them, her eyes turning into crescents, and it took a lot of willpower for Lance not to lean back in fear of those two rows of sharp teeth.

When she was gone, Keith picked up his fork and asked, "So what'd you think she said this time?"

Lance shrugged, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth. Swallowing, he picked up the coffee and washed the food down with the bitter liquid. "Not sure. I assume she said something along the lines of 'Is there anything else I can get for you?' or 'Enjoy your food.' But it sounded more like a question, so I just assumed it was the first."

Keith nodded and munched on some bacon. "Fair enough."

Lance pointed his knife at Keith with a flourish and set his elbow on the table. "It's all about context clues, buddy." His friend rolled his eyes, but there was no sarcastic intent. Just amused exasperation.

The food was amazing, especially after being in space for so long. Green goo was...substantial, to say the least. But this diner food? American-like breakfast? It was great. When he and Hunk had first gone, they'd both questioned where an alien species could have possibly gotten eggs and all other ingredients for this meal. Yet when their food had arrived, and they'd seen and tasted how similar the food was to earth's meal, all thoughts had flown out the window.

Now, the thought was still there, but it was more of a niggling speck at the back of his head. Keith didn't seem to have any thoughts about the place as he shoveled the hash browns into his mouth.

Honestly, to an outsider, they probably looked as if they hadn't eaten in a while. With the pace they were going at, it was a surprise they weren't getting more weird glances. They were practically racing through the food, all conversation having diminished after their second forkful. At one point, Lance reached over to stab at Keith's bacon, bringing it to his mouth with an audible crunch.

Keith had looked so affronted that Lance couldn't help but laugh at his expression. Then he went on to steal some of Lance's eggs, looking triumphant at his action. It was so ridiculous that Lance went on to laugh until he was clutching his gut, tears streaming down his face as he watched Keith's expression turn into one of confusion—then amusement.

Finally, they were both left with pancakes.

"These are superior to waffles, Keith," Lance said, sliding the plate closer to himself. Keith only shook his head, grabbing at his own plate. Then he whisked away the jug of syrup just as Lance was about to reach for it.

"I'll be the judge of that. But be prepared to lose—pancakes have nothing on waffles." Then he slathered on the thick liquid onto his own stack. Lance felt his face pinch.

Keith noticed and stopped, setting the jug down between them. Cocking his brow, he tilted his head and gestured at Lance.

"What?"

Lance shook his head, letting his lips purse as he stared at Keith's small stack. It was absolutely drenched in syrup, and he internally cringed at the amount of sugar that it contained.

"No, really, what?" Keith took his own knife and starting cutting in.

"That's—a lot of syrup."

The red paladin narrowed his eyes in response, and he defiantly brought a piece to his mouth. When he started chewing, Lance cringed externally.

"Buddy, you're gonna be so hyper later," he said, shaking his head. Barely tilting the jug, he let the syrup fall in light strips across his own. Keith frowned and stabbed at another piece, swirling it in the viscous liquid before popping it into his mouth.

"I have a sweet tooth," he grumbled in defense, taking a swig of coffee, "don't judge me."

Lance held up his hands and shook his head, "I wasn't judging you."

(They both knew it wasn't true, but Keith didn't bother commenting any further. Lance refrained from making anymore statements, but he couldn't quite help the frown that marred his face as he watched Keith eat that sugar-abomination.)

When they were both finished, Lance pushed his plate away and slumped back on his seat, reaching over to grab at his half-finished coffee. It was likely lukewarm now, but it'd help wash down all of that food. Keith did the same, except his posture was much better and his back was much straighter than Lance's.

"So," Lance started, "how were the pancakes?"

Keith shrugged one shoulder, bringing his mug to his lips. "It was fine," he said, voice muffled by the ceramic. "But waffles are still superior."

Lance snorted, "Sure, if that were the case, why does this _alien_ establishment serve pancakes instead of waffles?" Then he gestured around the diner with one hand with a flourish. "Because it's obvious that pancakes are much, much better."

The red paladin watched him carefully. "I dunno. Maybe the aliens have bad taste."

He scoffed in response, "Maybe _you_ have bad taste. Listen here, bud, pancakes are at an alien diner, which means," he held up a finger, "pancakes are a universal thing. Literally." Then he brought his hand up to his head and wiggled his fingers outward to mimic an explosion.

"Boom. Beat that."

Keith continued to sip at his coffee, but Lance could see the hint of a smile at the corners of his lips. "Sure, I'll let you have that one—"

"Ha!"

"—but I'll never say that pancakes are better."

The blue paladin set down his now-empty mug firmly and shook his head sadly. "You're fighting a losing battle."

"Sure I am." Keith set down his mug and started to slide out of the booth, "But let's go. We've loitered long enough. We should probably head back."

"Oh." There was a sinking feeling in Lance's stomach. Did it really have to end? He knew the answer to that, but it didn't wash away the sudden disappointment he felt. "Right."

Digging in his pocket, he pulled out his wallet, yanking out a card that Coran had given them earlier. Handing it to the waitress, he noticed Keith beginning to take his out and quickly said, "For the both of us."

The beginnings of a protest began on Keith's lips, but Lance shoved the card at the alien, who looked a little taken aback at his aggressive pushing.

"Don't," he said, watching the red paladin, "I asked you to come with me, so I'll take care of it." She rang them up quickly and handed back his card. Before they knew it, they were back on the space pod heading back towards the castle.

The ride was met with silence as they were both so full from the food. In fact, the only form of communication they had was when Lance had burped, causing Keith to snort loudly.

Back in the castle, they both slid onto solid ground, and Lance stretched, feeling his joints protest after the cramped ride. Keith did the same, and they headed towards the door.

"That was good." Keith broke the silence between them. "That was actually really good."

Lance felt something warm from his stomach, a small streak of satisfaction bubbling in his chest. Rubbing the back of his neck, he grinned, and with a shrug, shoved both hands into his pockets. "I'm glad you liked it. Thanks for coming with me."

Keith turned to him, pausing in his step. Lance stopped as well, confusion causing him to stare wide-eyed at his friend.

With a sigh, Keith opened his mouth, but no words escaped. He looked as if he were having trouble coming up with words to say. For Lance, it was a little tempting to make a snarky quip about his lack of communication skills, but he held back and patiently waited.

Finally, his friend managed to mumble, "Thanks for inviting me."

Lance reared back in mock surprise. "Was it that hard to say thanks? Sheesh. But yeah, it's no problem really." He turned and continued to walk before someone grabbed at his arm and held him back.

"No, what I'm trying to say is," Keith paused, frustration evident in his tone. Lance waited, now cocking a brow.

"What I'm trying to say is that next time you go, let me know."

Oh. That's not what Lance was expecting.

Keith continued, "It was fun, and no one really asks me to go anywhere, but I liked it. It was cool." Then he shrugged awkwardly. Without another word, he turned and headed towards the door. He was almost there, when Lance snapped himself out of his surprise and jogged to catch up with Keith.

(Who walked surprisingly quickly. Maybe it was cause he was a little embarrassed, but who knows? Did Keith even get embarrassed?)

"Hey, hey, slow down." Keith didn't bother, and Lance internally groaned, "Yeah, you can come with! I'll be sure not to ask you last again either."

Keith paused in his step. "Really?"

Lance beamed at him, "Really! You'll even be the first!"

With a small smile, the red paladin turned to him with a hint of excitement in his violet eyes.

Then Lance wagged a finger at him, "Only if you admit pancakes are so much better than waffles."

"Never. I'd rather starve," Keith deadpanned immediately.

"Keith, come on, buddy. Oh _come on_ , slow down! Keith! You're fighting a losing battle here."

"Nope."

"—pancakes are universally loved—"

"Nope."

**Author's Note:**

> I prefer waffles. Sorry, Lance.
> 
> [Tumblr](http://quiznaksicles.tumblr.com)
> 
> [Twitter](http://twitter.com/ostenreal)


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